Organized Chaos
by Qeani
Summary: What happens when our favorite sons of Finwë show up in our world? Organized chaos, thats what. See how these elves handle a modern age full of cars, computers, and Harry Potter obsessed ten year olds. Part of the Plush Toy Collaboration.
1. Dreams and Diaries

I suppose if I'd known what I was getting myself into, I would have left it alone. Of course, when you're bored out of your mind, you tend to do stupid things.

An example would be signing up for a visit from Tolkien elves in plush form; it'll be fun, I thought. Little did I know I was in for the ride of my life.

I suppose that I'd better stop whining, and get to what actually happened, and how it happened, and why it happened. The answer is, thirteen years ago, when I was sixteen, I signed up for the program, fully realizing what could happen.

Although to be honest I didn't think that it would. I should have listened to my mother's warning not to order things online, especially things from obscure, sketchy websites. Except, I was sixteen. What sixteen year old actually listens to her mother? Certainly not me.

I have written my dream for you to read. Interpret it how you will, even now I do not understand what it truly meant. I suppose the best way for me to remember what happened is to write it down.

* * *

><p>The girl ran through the woods, feeling the wind in her hair, the smell of fresh air. It was a welcome change to living in, wait, where was she from? She'd forgotten, which was strange, because normally she was rather wary of forgetting things.<p>

She felt an abrupt change of scenery as she found herself in a courtyard, where she saw three very tall men talking. She edged closer, curious as what the conversation was about.

We all know that 'curiosity killed the cat,' but this young woman simply didn't care; she knew 'that satisfaction brought it back.'

"I am tired of dealing with their incessant whining and arguing," the shorter of the men said. "You'd think that after spending time in Mandos' halls they could at least learn to get along," he finished, quite annoyed.

The tallest man stood for a moment thinking about what had been said, before remembering something that had been done before. "If you are willing-" Here he paused. "- We have as of late been employing the use of the F.A.U.L.T.T.Y. program."

The bearded man spoke up: "But the eldest has already been through that program, and passed with flying colors. Why would you subject him to yet another trial run?" he questioned, slightly confused.

The shorter man nodded, "It will allow them to hopefully grow closer, and heal the rifts between them. Granted, they never got along all too well, but having all shared the same burden of responsibility, let us hope that they will understand." He paused before adding, "Let it be done." With that Finwë sealed the fate of his children.

The tallest—by his tone, their leader nodded, "Aulë, if you will prepare the packages and educate the others on what will happen." He paused, smiling. "I believe I already have a caretaker in mind."

Manwë Súlimo turned his head towards the gate and smiled kindly. "Why longer in the shadows? Come," he said, beckoning the young woman forward.

She hesitantly stepped out of the shadows, slightly surprised that they had heard her. She was also surprised at how his words sounded like a rhyme.

She mentally cursed herself before saying the first thing that came to mind: "Ollo, uh, I uh, hello?" She stumbled forward, fidgeting with her hands.

"Do you know who we are?" questioned Aulë.

She nodded hurriedly. "I think so, but no, this isn't right, you're not real," she stammered. "But, if you were, well, you are Lord Aulë-" She pointed to the taller man. "-Manwë Súlimo, high king of Valinor, and if the stories are right-" she said, pointing to the third, "well, aren't you supposed to be dead?"

At this the shorter man, laughing, replied, "No, two Ages is quite enough time to spend in the halls of Námo."

She blushed, realizing that she probably sounded quite ridiculous, but to be fair you would as well if you found yourself in the presence of an elf and two of the Valar.

"Don't you think it's time you returned home?" Manwë said, turning to look down at the young girl. "You have spent time enough here. It is not yet your time to find yourself in such a place as this. Return to your home; you shall receive what is yours."

* * *

><p>Beep, beep, beepity beep came the incessant blaring of Emma's alarm clock. Moaning, she turned over, eyes wide as she stared at the clock. Six-thirty a.m., it read: time to start another day.<p>

"That was a weird dream," she said, rubbing the last bits of sleep out of her eyes as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.


	2. Eönwë

**A/N**: **Once again I do not, nor ever will own Tolkien. I only own Emma, Durin the dog, Fingon the fish, and Thranduil the parrot, as well as partial ownership of Ian and Zane. Major thanks to CrackinAndProudOfIt for betaing this. Enjoy! :)**

_Ten Years Later_

Ian and Zane drummed their fingers impatiently on the counter as Emma quickly placed their lunches in brown paper bags. The twin's adoptive mother took a deep breath and glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes before school started. Thirty minutes remained, oh plenty of time.

"Don't forget the cheese sticks," chimed Zane, who was overly fond of cheese, while his twin added, "Or the pudding! It's Pudding Tuesday, remember?"

Emma sighed before hurrying to the fridge to pull out the requested items. After placing two cups of chocolate pudding and two white sticks of string cheese in the brown bags, she looked at the clock once again, just to be sure that they wouldn't be late.

Grabbing keys and purse, she looked around to check that she hadn't forgotten anything. "Keys, purse, wallet, phone-where's my phone?" she asked, looking at Zane, who was notorious for stealing it and taking photos.

"Mom, you're holding it," he said, raising an eyebrow. She looked down at her left hand, and sure enough there it was.

"Alright, grab your things; let's go. Hurry, spit-spot," she said, clapping her hands as the twins grabbed their backpacks and lunches. "Hurry, we don't want to be late on the first day." They froze as the doorbell rang.

"Maybe if we ignore it, they'll just go away," she whispered urgently, distressed by the prospect of delay. Again came the doorbell's chime. Ian looked at Emma as if to say, 'Really, how old are you, seven?' He walked over to the entryway, and much to Emma's chagrin, opened the door.

"Hello, is your mother here?" came a voice from the other side. Ian looked up at the tall gentleman for a few moments before nodding.

"Yeah, gimme a second, she's probably hiding in the corner somewhere," he said, peering over his shoulder with a smirk. "Mom, someone at the door for you."

_'Oh, he's going to get it later,' _the twenty-five year old thought her green eyes glaring daggers at Ian, as she walked to the door. "Hello, what can I do for you?" She smiled, looking down markedly at Ian; the boy gave the innocent smile of any adoring son.

The very attractive man opposite her wore a rather fancy suit, monogrammed with a tag that read, "Eönwë's Delivery Service," which she thought was quite strange. _Who was crazy enough to name a service after some obscure 'Silmarillion' character that had a suspicious resemblance to Hermes?_

"You are Emma Holt, correct?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. For a moment Emma wondered if Zane and Ian could possibly be related to him, as not many people knew the art of that infamous eyebrow.

"What happens if I say yes?" she challenged, still thinking of the eyebrow and the name.

"Perfect, then if you'll just sign here, please..." he said, handing over a clipboard in complete disregard of the question. Passing her phone to Ian and her purse to Zane, she carefully signed the underlined sections. Normally she would have looked at what she was signing, but with two ten year olds peering from behind you... Well, you lose your focus fairly easily.

"Perfect, if you'll give me a moment," said the guest cheerfully, walking to a truck across the street. Emma took the moment to look down at Ian, who merely looked back up at her, still smirking.

"Don't think you're getting out of this easily." She glared. He knew just how to push the right buttons, and especially how much Emma disliked talking to mailmen for reasons involving that a taco and Durin the dachshund.

"Mom, stop being a baby," he said, rolling his eyes. Emma was about to protest and explain the many reasons why she was not a baby, and that she was older and he, younger - when the man walked back up carrying a battered and lumpy box.

"Here, we've had quite the adventure trying to get this to you," he said, handing Emma} the box, and looking very relieved to be rid of it.

The date stamped on it read February 10, 2014. "I'll say!" she ejaculated, looking up. "That was ten years ago." The man shrugged.

"Like I said, we've had a very long time trying to get this to you. Good day, then." He nodded, and then abruptly walked off.

Closing the door, she scratched her head while examining the box, wondering what she could have possibly ordered. That was when she saw the label. 'F.A.U.L.T.T.Y.' _No, that can't be right_, she thought, looking down at the date again. February 10, 2014. Ten years ago.

"Schist!" she exclaimed, dropping the box in surprise. Only she didn't say Schist. She said the other one, which starts with F and ends with K.

Zane and Ian looked up, horrified at the curse. "Mom, I thought only we knew that word," Zane breathed.

"Where did you learn that word?" she demanded, horrified in turn. He was only what? Ten? Where had he learned that?

"From Ian," he answered simply. Ian looked at him like he was ready to pummel someone.

"Yes, well I learned it from Man-" He paused, earning a sharp look from Zane. "Manny, our foster dad. At least that's what we called him. He looked like an elephant, so it seemed the proper name," he explained, both hands raised in the air.

"Well, let's just hope that word isn't used here again. And his name was George not Manny," Emma responded sharply choosing to ignore the fact that her sons knew that word. "Just place the box on the counter; I'll look at it when we get home." She motioned, and Ian nodded and did as instructed, clearly relieved that the matter hadn't been pushed further. "And Zane, please put Durin outside, he needs a pee," she added, walking over to give Fingon a few food pellets. Her pets' welfare had sprung spontaneously to her flustered mind.

"Mom, its 8:15," Zane announced.

"Crap! Hurry, let's get to the car," she ordered, pushing them into the garage and quickly unlocking the car. They climbed in swiftly, and then buckled their seatbelts.

Ten minutes later they pulled in front of Arrowhead Elementary, and quickly unbuckling jumped out. "Okay, hurry, apologize to your teacher. Here's why you're late," she said, fishing out a sheet of paper and quickly penning an excuse "Let me see… Uncle Jack has chicken pox." They smiled as she wrote it down: new town, new school, and old excuses.

"Here," she said, handing it to Zane. Smiling, she kissed him on the forehead; he wrinkled his nose.

"That's still nasty," he griped before giving Emma a hug.

The young woman turned to look at Ian who came up and gave me a big hug. "A pain you both may be at times, but I sure wouldn't give you up for anything." Emma fluffed their dark hair, knowing that they hated it. She laughed as Zane smoothed it down, looking rather perturbed.

"Mom, you're just being weird." Ian scowled.

"There you are, and I was beginning to wonder what happened to you, hugging me and everything." She smirked, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

They hurried out, slamming the door behind them. "Don't slam doors, Zane. And, Ian, don't put tacks on the teacher's chair!" she reminded them as they waved before walking into the school.

Pulling into the garage, she sighed in relief; glad she was able to work from home - glad, that is, until she realized she had ten papers to grade. Slumping down in the seat, she wondered if maybe it would all go away if she simply stayed here. Taking a deep breath, however, she opened the car-door and walked into the house.

Setting her purse and keys on the counter, she suddenly remembered the strange box. Nervously she turned around and saw that it remained where Ian had placed it. Carefully walking over, she proceeded to stare at the package for about ten minutes before gaining the courage to open it. Grabbing a steak knife, and ignoring Durin's incessant barking, Emma sliced at the tape and pulled the lid back to find a letter and three plush dolls.

February 2, 2014

_Dear Qeani,_

_Congratulations on being selected to participate in our F.A.U.L.T.T.Y program. You may recognize these toys to be Fëanor, Fingolfin, and their brother, Finarfin. We wish you the best of luck, and appreciate your acceptance of this program._

_Sincerely,_

_Manwë Súlimo_

...

After fifteen minutes spent trying to decide what was going on, and what was the best way to react to it, Emma did the only logical things she could. 1) Throw Fëanor, Finarfin, and Fingolfin onto the couch. 2) Eat Nutella with a spoon. 3) Let Durin into the house, while making sure he didn't shred poor Finarfin to bits. 4) Wait until the plushies woke up.

Sitting on the loveseat opposite the couch, Emma watched the plushies in interest; she understood what would happen, as she herself had signed up for this program ten years ago. What she didn't expect was to actually hear back from F.A.U.L.T.T.Y. Meanwhile, Durin was staring at Finarfin with great interest, contemplating the best way to chew on him: either starting with the feet, or the head, but then again that hand did look tempting…

Emma rose to go to the bathroom, and Durin sat patiently, resting his head on his paws, waiting for Emma to return. He had never understood why humans had to go so often… All at once he noted that one of the toys twitched. He raised his head abruptly. He may have been a dog, but he knew one thing: toys do not twitch.

Cautiously he crept over to the couch, and watched as the fluffiest plushy seemed to... light on fire? However, this dog was not the brightest dog on planet earth, or he would have sense enough not to sit staring at a burning plushy. Poor Durin yelped, as he received a swift kick to the nose from said delicious-looking cloth conflagration.

When he finally regained his vision, he looked up to see... three rather tall, rather new people. At once Captain Durin, sensing distress, went into alarm mode, and began barking. This immediately set off a chain reaction: Fingon the fish began blowing bubbles, while Thranduil the parrot began mimicking a car alarm.

Emma walked out of the bathroom to see what all of the commotion was about. No matter the fact that she had been expecting them to wake up, she never thought it'd be quite like this. Fingolfin was doing his best to calm the poor parrot down; Finarfin was trying his best to keep Durin from chewing on his clothing, all while Fëanor leaned on the kitchen counter with an almost gleeful expression on his face.

"What is going on here?" Emma demanded.

Fëanor looked across the room at the mortal woman, noting the distressed look on her face. "Organized chaos, my dear child." He replied grinning.


	3. Pig Latin and Oreos

**A/N: Here is the third chapter. I hope that you all like it, and major thanks to CrackinAndProudofIt for betaing. And just to clarify I do not own any of the characters except for Emma and the pets. All the rest belong to J.R.R. Tolkien**

Emma took in the state of her house one more time before warbling in a mixture of English and pig Latin. "Eyhay, um, err, hi," she mumbled weakly.

"Speak up, I do not tolerate mumbling," Fëanor said impatiently. "Normally I would suppose that you had been informed as of what to do upon our arrival. However, seeing as you are quite incapable of speech, I shall introduce you to my half-brothers," he announced with finality, then turned to his half-brothers. "Finarfin," he said, furrowing his brow, "if you will please take a seat and ignore that poor excuse of a hound, I shall introduce our host as she is clearly incapable of introducing herself."

"This is Emma Clay, daughter of Joseph and Anna Clay, resident of Pensacola, Florida, in the country of the United States of America," he pronounced, turning to look at the young mother, who appeared ready to faint.

"Brother, you can see that this adaneth is much fatigued; will you not have the decency to allow her to sit?" Fingolfin said, walking over to the young woman, who widened her eyes at the sight of him. But to be fair, what would you do if you found yourself in the presence of three supernaturally good-looking elven princes, or any ellon for that matter (prince or not).

The second son of Finwë carefully took Emma by the shoulders and guided her to the armchair. "Sit still and breathe in slowly," he said, turning to Finarfin, who was staring at the young woman with a curious expression. "Finarfin, would you mind fetching a glass of water for our host?"

Finarfin, nodding his assent, made his way into the kitchen and, after about two minutes had passed, returned to his elder brother with the glass. He watched as Emma took the glass from his brother and gingerly took a sip.

Finally unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, he spoke up. "Are all the women of the Edain dumb?" he asked, mystified.

Fingolfin turned to him with sharp eyes and harshly reprimanded his brother. "Finarfin, you should be more careful when you ask questions. This woman may not be able to speak, but she can certainly hear."

At this Emma, snapping out of her reverie, turned to the two younger sons of Finwë. "I assure you I can speak very well, but even if I couldn't, I still wouldn't be called 'dumb,'". She said quite angrily, adding with a sharp exhale, "Now if you would not mind moving so I can stand, that would be most greatly appreciated."

"Ah, Emma, you should know that that is no way to treat one of the Eldar," Fëanor said, narrowing his eyes. "As much as I have enjoyed your speaking to my half-brothers thus, I would prefer you to address me at least with more respect. Bear in mind, however, that we are all princes of the Noldor."

"I apologize; I am not quite used to addressing princes. This is not a common occurrence for me," she said, looking down feeling quite ashamed that she had been so liberal in her speech.

"Ah, yes I can see that," said Fëanor, who had begun perusing Emma's collection of books. "'War and Peace,' I might just borrow this; it is a fine story," he said, grabbing Emma's copy of Tolstoy's work from the top shelf.

"Fëanor, you have not even asked her permission!" scolded Fingolfin.

"Ah, yes." He cleared his throat noisily and turned to his host. "When I was last going through this program, I began to read this book, but was never given the chance to finish it. So prithee may I?" he requested in a mocking tone.

"Yes, yes that's fine." Emma nodded and turned to the other princes, "Well, if you will just make yourselves at home, I believe introductions are in order. This is my Dachshund, Durin. My parrot over there is Thranduil, and that," she added, pointing to the goldfish, "is Fingon."

Fingolfin turned to her in horror. "You named a fish after my son?" His tone was more than incredulous.

"There's really quite the resemblance: he has the same scaly look as your son," interjected Fëanor, looking up from his book. "And I approve of the parrot's name. Thranduil is quite the squawker. Now if only you had named the hound after his son, well... that would have been most appropriate, but I suppose Durin will have to do," he finished, returning to the story of the Bezukhovs, the Bolkonskys, the Rostovs, the Kuragins and the Drubetskoys.

"I would disagree with you there." Fingolfin turned to glare at Fëanor. "My son is in no way scaly, and even though Thranduil may seem quite cold, he does not squawk. And Durin, well, he is... I suppose that fits." he said, glancing at Finarfin, who was quite used to his brothers' shenanigans.

"Lady Emma, do you perhaps have a quill and parchment in your possession?" asked the youngest Finwion suddenly and somewhat eagerly. "I am very interested in this mortal world, and intend to document all of my findings here."

"Yes, one moment please," Emma answered, grateful for an excuse to leave the room. She hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom; closing the door behind her, she let out a very undignified squeal.

"I have the three sons of Finwë in my house." She paused, letting the fact settle on her brain. "I have the three sons of Finwë in my house!" she exclaimed as she looked around for a notebook and pen. She stopped. "I have the three sons of Finwëbin my house…." she whispered. This was every fangirl's dream, to have her beloved characters come to life, so why did she have a feeling of foreboding? She opted to ignore the doomful vibes, turning her thoughts to practical measures: she would have to help them fit in.

Grabbing a white notebook and blue pen, she hastily went back downstairs. She stopped as she entered the family room. It was empty, and... She detected a delicious aroma from the kitchen? Cautiously she walked in, and what she saw took her by surprise.

"My lords, I did not know you required food." her diction surprised her; she was beginning to talk like them!

"Well, after being turned into a plushie and waiting patiently for ten years to return to life, one tends to be very hungry," Fëanor turned to her, blasé.

What Emma saw nearly made her eyes pop out. Finarfin was wearing her Minnie Mouse 'Kiss The Cook' apron, while Fingolfin was wearing Zane's blue and green apron;} Fëanor had chosen Ian's green and brown one.

"Here, you don't have to do all this; I could easily pop a lasagna into the oven," she said, waving her hand and trying to take the spatula from Fëanor.

"No. While we are staying here, I will not be eating anything microwavable." Fëanor shuddered at an apparently unpleasant memory of packaged pasta. "We will cook, that is a man's job."

Emma stood flabbergasted, "When have you eaten that?" she questioned, ignoring the Noldo's mandate on gender roles entirely.

"When I first participated in the program, so no, I will not eat that lasagna." His tone clearly said the conversation was over.

Emma nodded, slightly insulted, as she was half-Italian. She would just have to make her guests some good, authentic lasagna.

"Emma, do you by chance have any fresh rosemary?" Fingolfin asked as he was chopping onions. "And red wine, that would be very helpful."

"What for?" she questioned suspiciously. If she remembered the stories right, elves had a thing for wine. And the last thing she needed was three drunken Ellyn in the house.

"We are making -" He paused and looked at the open cookbook on the counter. "- I believe it is called 'pot roast'?" he said, to Emma's infinite relief.

"Ah, yes, I do, in that case. The rosemary is on the back row on the third shelf of the cupboard next to you, and the wine is on the top shelf. And yes, it's called pot roast." she spouted, nodding. "Finarfin?" She proffered the pen and notebook to the youngest brother. "Here's what you requested. Is there anything else I can get you?" she added, recalling her manners.

"No, no that's fine. Do you sleep with your eyes open or closed?" he asked rather candidly.

Surprised by the randomness of the question, she answered, "Closed, I suppose. Why?"

"How curious. And for how long do you usually sleep?" he continued, writing down her response.

"Um…" She faltered. "Eight to ten hours," she finally replied, feeling very awkward.

"Finarfin, close your mouth and chop the potatoes," ordered Fëanor, annoyed by his half-brother as a strict rule, and even more annoyed by such a stream of questions.

"I apologize if my questions seemed forward; the only adan I have met is Tuor and well, it is interesting to meet a female of that race," he explained, writing everything down, from the merest scratch in the wood, to the number of breaths Emma took each minute. After finishing the last note, he finally set the pen and notebook on the table and began work on the potatoes.

_Oh, gosh, what's he going to do when my sons get home….?_ The thought almost made her laugh: she could picture Lord Finarfin taking notes of every little thing the twins did. Which sparked another, more urgent thought in her mind: today was half-day they would be home soon!

"My Lords," Emma said hesitantly, "I forgot to inform you that I have two sons, and that they will be arriving home any minute now." She smiled hoping that they would be alright with two rambunctious ten year olds.

Fingolfin turned his head toward the woman. "Thank you for informing us. Where is your husband?" he questioned.

"Oh, no, no, they're adopted. I'm not married; I'm only twenty-five, for Pete's sake!" she said rather quickly, almost embarrassed she had forgotten that elves rarely took care of children without being married; she immediately realized how that would seem. Except of course with the special case of Maedhros and Maglor, Elrond and Elros, every elf she could think of was raised by both parents in their home.

"In fact, the boys used to be my siblings," she elaborated, walking to the fridge to collect peanut butter, milk, and Oreos for her sons.(Yes, they were rather fond of chilled Oreos.)

"How did that come to be?" Finarfin inquired, perplexed.

"Well, my-our parents passed away in a car crash two years ago, so I adopted them; prior to my adopting them, they had been my foster brothers," she said as she walked to cupboard to get six glasses.

"I am very sorry for you loss." Finarfin spoke, while the others nodded in agreement.

"Don't be; you didn't do anything. But thank you," Emma answered, watching in amusement as Fëanor and Fingolfin began bickering about how much wine should be added: whether it was a cup, or simply a half-cup. Both amounts rather alarmed Emma; she was not sure she wanted that much alcohol in her sons' meal.

"Are they always like this?" She turned to Finarfin, who was dropping the chopped potatoes into the stockpot.

"Yes," he replied, soon returning to his work "only worse."

The young mother was about to decide how best to handle the situation when she heard a few short yaps of excitement from Durin.

"Mom, we're home!" Zane shouted from the other room.

"Perfect, we're in the kitchen," she called back, desperately hoping they would react well to three grown elves in the kitchen.

"What do you mean 'we'?" Zane paled when he saw the three elves, raising his brows in alarm. "Ian, you need to come here now!" he called hurriedly.

"Zane, I should have called to tell you. Do you remember the package we received this morning?" she asked calmly. Zane nodded his assent, still glaring at the elves.

"Well, these are the Princes Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin of the Noldor," she said introducing him to the three guests, "and this, my lords, is my son Zane."

If she had paid attention to the strange looks that Fëanor and Fingolfin were giving her son, she would have noticed that something was wrong. But, of course her mind was preoccupied with other things. "I know," Zane replied stiffly.

"What is it?" Ian moaned in annoyance as he walked into the room. "I was just starting a movie, why couldn't it-" He froze as he saw the princes and rather angrily said: "What are you doing here?"


	4. Dropping Eaves

**A/N: As always I do not own these characters, excepting Emma and the animals: Durin, Thranduil, and Fingon. The rest belong to the esteemed J.R.R. Tolkien. Many thanks to Eryniel Alasse for helping me with this chapter. Please check out her profile, she has some great stories!**

Ian growled as he heard more sounds of machinery coming from below. Doesn't the cursed ellon ever sleep? he thought as tossed the ball on quite forcefully.

"It's three a.m.," Zane mumbled into the pillow, "you might as well try to get some sleep instead of hitting the wall."

"Better yet -" Ian paused to hit the wall harder, "-only you could be so foolish as to sleep when Kinslayers are in our own house."

There was some shuffling on the bed below his own before he saw his brother's face. He did not look happy. "Look here, I've heard nothing but complaints from you for the past four days. If you can't figure out how to get along with them, well, maybe you should have never left Mandos' halls." He glared at his brother, demanding a response.

"Yes, well, that would have been much more welcome instead of having to spend such time with you. You're a fool," Ian snarled. "It's your fault that my Naneth is dead."

Zane stepped off the ladder. "We will talk more of this when you have slept and can think clearly. Goodnight, little brother, and try to be nice tomorrow; this is a good life we have here." Climbing back into bed, Zane acknowledged that this was not the brother he knew and loved. Still, the life they had now was good. Besides, he thought to himself, we didn't have Oreos before. Oreos are good.

The youngest Finwion walked downstairs, slightly disturbed about the conversation he had overheard. He sat in the armchair, puzzled as to who these children could be. They certainly were not who they claimed to be; he knew an elfling when he saw one. They were well acquainted with the Kinslayings, that was for certain. What disturbed him most is that they had been inside Námo's halls. The mere thought of children being in the halls was disturbing at best. Could they have been on the docks at the time of the Kinslaying? There had been elflings slain that day. That was a fact that no matter how hard the Eldar tried to forget, they could not.

Dúrin, sensing distress, padded over to his newfound friend and cautiously put his paws on top of the Elf lord's knees. He wagged his tail when he felt his master scratch his ear, wagging it harder when he reached the place that was immensely difficult to reach. When you're a dog, it's not always easy to reach the spot directly in front of the ear.

Finarfin snorted as the dog rolled over onto his belly and begged for more. With a groan, he bent over to continue scratching the dog. Emma walking into the room, interrupting him from his reverie. Standing to acknowledge her entrance, he decided to tuck away his thoughts for a later time. Now was not the time for a less than pleasant conversation.

"I see your brother found my tool shed," she smiled.

"Yes, and for that I am sorry. When he is upset he tends to make things, and well, Fingolfin tends to not speak." He smiled in the hope that he would be able to alleviate some of the stress resting on the young woman's shoulders. Finarfin inwardly cursed as he realized that his attempt at soothing had, in fact, had the opposite effect. Emma slumped on the couch feeling rather sad in recollection of the previous days' catastrophe, or 'organized chaos,' as Fëanor had so aptly named it.

Noticing the time on the wall, the golden son of Finwë changed his previous attempt at conversation. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Giving a tired smile, Emma nodded. "I do admit incessant hammering is not my idea of a proper lullaby."

Letting out a sigh of relief Finarfin laughed. "No, I suppose not." Picking up his notebook he handed it to the tired mother. "I was informed that taking notes on your behavior is not a polite custom of the Edain. I do apologize."

Laughing, Emma replied, "No, I suppose not," echoing his earlier statement. "However, I can tell that you are a bit of a scientist. Or scholar," she corrected herself, not sure if the Eldar were familiar with science.

"I have heard of science; in fact, I find it rather intriguing. That was my failed attempt at seeming human."

Emma laughed that deep laugh seemed to be common among the Edain. "You remind me of my sister Írimë."

If Emma had been blessed with elven hearing she would have heard that the hammering and clinking had stopped. "She is only slightly like Írimë. Of all our siblings I disliked her least," Fëanor stated as he walked into the room. "However, you do bear a slight resemblance to her." Fëanor took a seat and found his place in Tolstoy's War and Peace. Finarfin sighed - out of all his siblings, Fëanor somehow managed to offend nearly any person he came in contact with; or worst case scenario, he somehow managed to entangle them in his web of intrigue.

"Emma, I believe you will be relieved to know that both your sons are now asleep." Fingolfin walked into the room exuding much confidence, while somehow managing to remain humble. That was one quality of elves, excepting Fëanor, that Emma could not fathom. How could someone be so perfect, yet so humble about it? She was startled from her jealousy by Finarfin laughing aloud, "Believe me, Fingolfin is not as humble as he would like you to think."

Feeling her cheeks turn crimson, Emma slouched and suddenly found the loose string on her blanket very interesting. "I see where Galadriel got her gift," she mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed that he could read her thoughts.

Fingolfin laughed a silvery laugh. "I think you will find that no gift was required; your thoughts were voiced aloud." He smiled, not alluding to the fact that Emma, who was now beet-red, had called him a perfect, yet humble elf.

"Well, I suppose I will leave you to your brotherly chat." Wincing at how ridiculous that must sound, Emma continued, "Goodnight… um, sleep well." She yawned, signaling that she was ready for bed. It should not have surprised her that the younger sons of Finwë stood in respect as she exited the room, yet every time this occurred she stopped in shock; she was not used to displays of gentlemanly behavior, and certainly not from supposedly fictional princes, or kings. She nodded in thanks and left the room, feeling quite apprehensive of what was to come next. For some reason their arrival had upset her sons, particularly Ian; whatever the reason was it would have to wait until tomorrow.

Finarfin breathed deeply as he sat down, feeling quite certain that Emma was out of hearing range. "They should not be here," he commented to his elder brother.

"No. Unfortunately, you are right," second son of Finwe replied. "I do not understand how they found themselves in this strange land, or in the halls of Mandos." He faltered. "I know what you are thinking, Ingoldo. They were not on the docks that day; we did not slay them."

"Celegorm did," Fëanor spoke with a grim look on his face. "My son ordered their removal from their home. Their death was not his intention; it was his own death that ordered it. There are not many repercussions of the oath that I regret; however, that is one I will always mourn."


	5. Toast and Jam

FA 506

_The little boys jumped as the door shook once more. They looked to their naneth for guidance. Swiftly she maneuvered her children to hide under the bed. The children held onto one another, hands clasped tightly, glancing at each other with fear-filled eyes._

_"Listen to me. It will be alright. Stay together; when it is safe for you to come out I will call for you." The mother looked over her shoulder at the door that threatened to open. "Do not come out for anyone. It will be alright. I love you so very much." _

_Wiping tears away from her boys' faces, she pulled the bedding down so that it kept the elflings out of sight. She reached behind the headboard and pulled out her father's sword. Hefting it in her palm she turned to face the double doors, which creaked with each beating they took from the oppressors seeking entrance._

_Saying a prayer to Ilúvatar, she readied herself for a fight she must win; a fight that would save the lives of her boys. _

_The door gave way, and a score of elves flooded into the chamber. She gritted her teeth when she saw whom it was that stood with sword ready to lay her low. _

_"Well met, your highness." The dark haired ellon gave a mocking bow. "Tell me, Nimloth. Where is your husband now?" he said, a dark smile marring his beautiful features._

_"I will never tell," she said, holding the sword firmly in her grip._

_"Oh, I think you know where he is," Curufin leered. "Look harder."_

_"What do you-" Nimloth's voice broke when she saw the sword of Elu Thingol in the hand of a Fëanorian. It was coated in blood. "It can't be-" She choked back tears and looked Curufin in the eye._

_"No, you're right. Isn't it fitting that his grandfather's sword is stained with the blood of your husband?" He glowered. "My brother's blood was also on this cursed blade."_

_He saw the fear that danced behind the green eyes of the elleth before him. "Do not fret. I was not uncouth enough to mingle my brother's blood with your husband's. I cleaned it first."_

_Nimloth for the first time felt hatred. Pure hatred. "You bastard," she snarled, not caring that her sons heard the word. "You will die." With a scream she charged the Fëanorian, grazing his cheek; she triumphed that she had drawn his blood._

_"It doesn't have to be this way." Curufin tsked. "Nimloth, where is your daughter?"_

_"Gone. I sent her and your precious jewel away," she said airily. _

_"You could never take that gem from Lúthien, nor will you take it from my daughter. I promise that you will never hold that Silmaril again."_

_Giving a roar the Fëanorian leaped forward, engaging in battle with the elleth. "Lúthien was a vile, foolish wench." _

_"You know I speak the truth: neither you nor your brothers will hold that gem again." She struck back, engaging the ellon in combat._

_The twins watched, eyes wide in fear, as the two elves fought, engaged in a dangerous dance from which only one would appear victor. Eluréd grasped his dagger firmly against his chest, ready to assist his mother whenever necessary._

_"Naneth-" Elurín covered his mouth to keep his shrieks in - it was hard. He only wanted his mother. He looked over to his elder brother, who kept his eyes dangerously focused on the son of Fëanor. He appeared ready to leap into defend his mother's honor at any moment._

_Eluréd could keep his fear in check no more. "Naneth!" He shouted, leaping out of his hiding place. He saw his mother falter for a mere second, turning her head to her son's plea._

_ It was all Curufin needed. With a vicious smirk he struck down the Queen of Doriath with one blow._

_"No!" Elurín screamed. Crawling out of his hiding place, he ran to his mother's side. "Nana. Nana, please- I need you. Wake up!" He watched through tear-filled eyes as his elder brother ran at Curufin and railed his little fists against his tunic._

_Laughing, the ellon lifted the angered elfling by the neck. As he was about to toss the elfling to the ground, he looked at those angry eyes, eyes as silver as the stars. _

_He stepped back, startled. He saw his son in the elfling's eyes. The same look his son gave him when he took him from his mother's arms many years ago in Valinor. _

_He held his free hand to his mouth, choking back a sob. It was at that moment that he regretted the oath. "What have I done?" He loosened his grip on the child's neck._

_Eluréd did not fully understand what he did that day. His little hand trembling, he plunged his small dagger into Curufin's chest; the ellon did nothing to stop the blow. _

_The elfling's attempts at self-defence had done nothing more than quicken the fatal blow that had already been achieved by Nimloth. Forevermore, though, the child would believe that it had been he who killed the golden son of Fëanor._

_The boy was dropped to the ground as the the fifth son of Fëanor looked down at the blade wound that had turned his father's star a deep crimson color. Eluréd scrambled back as the ellon fell to his knees, and ran to where his mother's body lay lifeless on the ground._

_"Take them-" Curufin looked at his guards, "-you have my brother's orders."_

_The boys held onto their mother's body, crying, begging her to awaken. They were unaware, nor did they care, what would happen next when they felt strong arms lift and toss them over blood-crusted shoulders. _

_The shouts and curses of the soldiers fell upon deaf ears. With tear-filled eyes the twins saw the last they would ever see of their home in Doriath._

* * *

><p>Ian woke with a start. That dream was one he had not had since they had been found in the woods. Climbing out of bed, he saw that Zane was still sleeping, his mouth open and drool coming out. Shaking the last bits of sleep from his eyes, he pulled his robe off the bedpost and exited the room.<p>

Bounding down the stairs, he landed at the bottom and looked to see Finarfin fast asleep with eyes glazed over. He could not fathom how elves slept that way, when he slept with them closed. That was most definitely normal. Eyes should be closed.

"Do bugs ever land in your eyes when you sleep?" he wondered aloud.

Startled, Finarfin snapped his head up, sending both notepad, and dachshund tumbling to the ground. He looked down as Durin, thankfully, still appeared to be fast asleep.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked again. He did not mean it to be rude; he simply had not been paying attention.

"For an elf you're not very perceptive." Ian took a seat next to Finarfin on the sofa. "I asked if bugs ever land in your eyes while you sleep." He reiterated his earlier question.

"Not that I know of. Do bugs land on your eyelids?" Finarfin turned the question back.

"Touché." Ian smiled, shaking off the remnants of last night's dream. "So where are your brothers?"

"Fëanor is in the garage, and Fingolfin is sitting out on the veranda." Finarfin set his notepad and pencil down. "I expect your mother is still fast asleep as well, and Zane?"

"Yes. Yes, they're still sleeping. Which is why I was wondering if you wanted to make breakfast," he whispered in an attempt not to disturb the ellyn, who were notorious for being quite grumpy when interrupted before they were ready.

"You know how to cook?" Finarfin asked.

"No, of course not," Ian laughed, "but I do know how to make toast. Come, let's go make breakfast."

With a hop, Ian descended the sofa, careful not to waken the sleeping animals and elves. After all Thranduil was quite the squawker when disturbed.

"You know," he started, "today is a Saturday."

"I was aware." Finarfin smiled. "Though what does Saturday mean?"

"It means that I don't have school." Ian opened the pantry. "So that means that we can have fun, and well, you need help," he stated, grabbing bread and placing it on the counter.

"I beg your pardon." Clearly confused as to what the child meant, Finarfin continued, "Why do I need help?"

"Oh, not just you," Ian replied, pulling the jam and butter out of the fridge. "Your brothers, too. It's your clothes- you need new ones."

Looking down to survey his robes, Finarfin raised an eyebrow. "These robes were made by my mother. I see nothing wrong with them."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Nothing is wrong with them. I just mean that if we are going to go out today you can't walk around looking like Professor McGonagall. You need to blend in."

Finarfin looked down at his golden robes. They were made of the finest silk. As nice as they were, though, he did understand that they might stick out like a sore thumb.

"I see what you mean. Though, if you do not mind my asking, who is this Professor McGonagall?"

Ian mentally smacked himself. There was so much that these elves would not understand. "Tonight, we are watching Harry Potter," he announced, popping the toast into the toaster.

"That is fine with me," Finarfin replied, giving up on asking who Harry Potter was. He assumed that this evening his question would be answered. Arda had changed greatly. If he was lucky, he would be able to document his findings and present them to the scholars in Valinor. His old tutor, Rúmil, would be over the moon with joy.

"Will you butter the toast?" Ian asked, handing the freshly toasted bread Finarfin's way.

"It seems that there are still aspects of life that have not changed," Finarfin mused." Toast is still in need of butter."

"That smells divine." Fëanor smiled, leaning against the kitchen doorway. "Jam and toast. My favorite."

Rolling his eyes, Ian passed the Finwion a slice of toast. "I was telling your brother-"

"Half-brother," Fëanor interrupted, looking at the boy with a newfound curiosity as to how the twins of Doriath had found themselves in this strange land. His questions would have to wait. It may be that the boys were not even aware of who they truly were- though he highly doubted it.

"Your brother," Ian repeated, "that you need help. You look like a crazy cosplayer."

"I suppose you are right. In fact I have done my research and laid out a plan to obtain clothes. Online shopping." Spreading his jam he continued, "I am well aware that no merchants will sell clothes our size in their shops. That is why I have already purchased clothing that we will wear."

"Cool. Thatissmart," Ian mumbled with a mouth full of food.

"You should not mumble - " Fëanor smiled. "-Nor should you speak with food in your mouth. It is impolite."

Swallowing his food, Ian sighed, seeing his brother speaking with Fingolfin on the veranda. "Look who finally decided to grace the world with his presence."

Finarfin stood in curiosity as the seemingly angry child sat out of doors, bearing an almost pleasant expression as he conversed with his elder brother.

Laughing, Fëanor bit into his toast. "Ara, you are most definitely inconspicuous," he spoke sarcastically. "Why not open the window? It will surely help your attempts at furtive glances."

"Do not chew with food in your mouth-" Smirking, Ian repeated Fëanor's earlier words- "it is quite rude."

With a raise of his eyebrow, the Finwion looked the young child in the eye. "You should not reprimand your elders. Did you not listen to your mother when she tried to teach you?"

"Speaking of such, where is your mother? I have much to discuss with her." Finarfin picked up his pen and notepad. "Is she awake?"

"By now I think so; she's probably grading papers or formatting a test." Seeing the look of surprise on the face of his guest, Ian explained, "She is a teacher. For an online university course."

"She is a scholar?" Finarfin questioned, his interest sparked at the thought of a female scholar. "Is this common in this age, for women to be scholars?" He sat ready to take notes in hope of any new information he might receive.

"I don't know. You ask weird questions; she teaches history." Standing up, Ian gathered the dirty dishes and utensils. "Do you think that Fin- whatever his name is- will be hungry?"

"When he is hungry he will eat." Finarfin spoke, writing whatever information he deemed appropriate.

"You will not find further information from my youngest brother. He has entered 'scientific' mode as your mother has so cleverly put it." Seeing the surprised look from Ian, Fëanor rolled his eyes. "I am not above recognizing cleverness. It is an admirable trait."

"What's an admirable trait?" Emma spoke, entering the kitchen in search of parrot food. "Ian, where is the food for Thran-"

Cutting his mother off, Ian answered, "I got it. Why don't you sit down? I'll go ahead and feed Fingon while I'm at it."

"Thank you, Ian, that is very good of you." She smiled in surprise that Ian was willing to help. "I would have asked Zane, except he seems to be busy." She poured herself a bowl of cereal as she spoke.

"Your son Ian tells me you are a scholar," Finarfin said, tone impressed.} "I was not aware that there were female scholars among the edain."

"Or that the edain cared at all about scholarship," Fëanor muttered, exiting the kitchen.

Emma counted to ten in order to prevent herself from biting back. "Yes, yes there are. Although I would not call myself a scholar; I only have one doctorate."

"Do not listen to him; he is a grumpy old ellon." Finarfin patted Emma on the arm. "The only experience he has had with the edain is the tapestries in Mandos' halls and of course, you and your family."

"Wait, what?" Emma asked feeling quite confused herself. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, Finarfin realized that once again he had failed to properly comfort Emma. The Edain were indeed a curious folk.

"I simply meant to say that my elder brother is not all-knowing. Much that he says is in attempt to prove his superiority."

"No, I meant the part about the tapestries," Emma said quietly, hoping that her suspicions would be assuaged. This could not be his first time, she thought. Surely they would not dump him on me.

"Oh, I assumed you would have been informed." Finarfin looked at the woman in surprise that she truly was not aware of the situation's particulars. "This is Fëanáro's first time out of Mandos halls. It is what I believe you would call 'probation.'"

With a sharp intake of breath, Emma sat up straight. "This has to be a dream." She began breathing deeply, pinching herself in an attempt to wake up.

"Why did I not notice before? Oh, my boys…" She trailed off, realizing that if this were real she may have put herself, and her sons, in danger. Looking the blond elf directly in the eye, she spoke urgently. "Please. I beg you. Tell me that this is a dream."

Finarfin drew in a deep breath.

Observing the panic that was now engraved on the woman's face, he spoke, "I wish it were."


End file.
